As a teenager, I didn’t sleep. I was too afraid to sleep. I couldn’t sit in the dark alone. I couldn’t sit in the silence of night. Some nights, I just sat in the center of my bed and rocked back and forth in a pathetic attempt to calm myself. Sometimes I would cry. Most of the time, though, I just sat, silent and rocking.

The paranoia started in my mid-teens, but the insomnia took hold of me much earlier. Around the time I was three years old, the night-terrors began. Livid and suffocating night-terrors. To coincide with this, of course, I also had a sleepwalking problem. Practically every night, I would physically act out whatever I was dreaming. Especially the night-terrors. I’d scream, run through the house, try to get out the door, and even sit and cry. I’d frighten my family and friends. Luckily for my parents (as well as my friends’ parents), I couldn’t undo a lock in my sleep.

It’s unnerving, though. I could recite the details of nearly all my worst nightmares, but I couldn’t tell you what my last pleasant dream was about. What is the psychology behind that? Or maybe the question is in the science of it. Did something in my childhood disturb me to the point of these habits being instilled in me? Or is it some sort of imbalance in my brain? I honestly couldn’t tell you. It seems like I’ve just always been this way.

I still feel this way today. Not as severely as I used to, of course, but the anxiety is still there. The fan has to be on for me to be able to fall asleep. I can’t sleep alone; my husband has to be in the bed with me. Even then, it can take me hours to fall asleep.

It makes me feel…broken. Like there’s something wrong with me. A grown woman shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

All the time, I hear, “Well, if you’re unhappy about something, change it.” It’s not that simple though, is it?

I hate my job. And I mean, I legitimately hate it. Honestly, I can’t even tell you why because I can’t pinpoint the real issue behind the way I feel towards it. Perhaps it’s the management. Maybe it’s that I don’t feel like I’m living up to my potential, as arrogant as it may sound. Hell, it might just be because I work for a large corporate franchise retailer that almost literally sucks the life out of me every second that I’m there. I’m not really sure.

It makes no difference how much I despise my job, though. It doesn’t matter how unhappy it makes me. Picking up and leaving my job because I detest it isn’t even remotely realistic. In a small rural town with hardly any job market, I was lucky to snag the terrible job that I did, never mind trying to have a “backup” job. I have a family to feed and a roof to keep over our heads. It’s becoming more difficult with each passing day. I can’t leave, but it’s breaking me.

I feel like I’m losing myself in the mess. I’m losing faith in my ability to keep going. I shouldn’t feel nauseated at the idea of having to get up and do things during the day. Even on my days off, I’m too exhausted to feel like I’m actually getting any rest. I’m tired. I try so hard to be a solid foundation, but I’m cracking.

I’ve sunk into this pit of self-loathing and feeling of worthlessness. Like nothing I do will be good enough because I’ve lost the will to try. Honestly, my job may not even be the problem. Maybe it’s me that’s the problem.

About two and a half years ago, a good friend of my sister and I made a permanent decision in response to a short-term problem. He was an extraordinary young man who drew and extraordinarily bad deck of cards in life.

A couple of nights ago, I found a short essay I had written for school in honor of him after he left us. There are too many people who feel the same way he did.There are too many people who opt out because no one noticed.

Going Unnoticed

In Loving Memory of Dee M.

When a pure light goes out, the world feels its sorrow. Dee was one of the purist, and it hurts to know he was in enough pain to rip himself from those he loved and who loved him dearly. No one should be pushed to that point.

Truthfully, it’s difficult to even know where to begin in describing such a beautiful soul. Words don’t seem sufficient enough. Dee spent his entire life making sure he had a smile on his face in hopes of invoking a more positive attitude from everyone around him. To those he befriended, he instantly became family. He was lovable in practically every aspect. He laughed when nobody else could. He wiped your tears, even if he hardly knew you. He risked his life to save a stranger without regret. Dee lived to make people happy.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t enough. Our society has crumbled, and the weight of the wreckage crushed him. His life changed dramatically within a year, and he lost himself in the process. He spiraled into nothingness.

Still, Dee smiled. Because he smiled, no one noticed. Smiles mean happiness, right? That is the delusion our world has drowned itself in. Society is so focused on the people who don’t speak out and make their voice known. They focus on those with the “typical image” of a broken soul. The ones who are truly broken go out like stars. They smile their brightest as the pain reaches its peak, though they died long before then. Then they disappear without a trace, and it goes unnoticed. For that reason, the people who feel this way wind up feeling more hopeless than before. They feel they have more reason to keep their hardships to themselves. They try to fight their demons alone, and they fail.

To be frank, these tendencies need to change. The clothes you wear, the music you listen to, and the activities you like—within reason—do not make you depressed or suicidal. Many people who are viewed in this way are some of the brightest and most content people. The true issues lie within more discreet manners. They hide behind the eyes that have dimmed. They hide behind the smile.

Looking around, I spy crackers crunched up and slipped under the rug, along with a trail of toy-town destruction. Toys that, mind you, I couldn’t even find before playtime. It seems as my son’s energy force grows, mine weakens. Some days I just want to rip my hair out. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Watching the personality blossom in my Baby Man starts establishing a feeling of uselessness. He’s become so independent so quickly. By five months, he slept through the night on his own; he doesn’t even have to be lulled. I almost forget how fragile and tiny he was an extremely short year ago. The first two months of nothing but tears (mostly my own). Waiting to see what color his eyes and hair were going to turn. My delicate little being that fit so perfectly into my arms is already about half my height and all of his daddy’s attitude.

Even now, Baby Man is staring at me with a toothy, chubby-cheeked grin. Calling me “Dada” because, of course, everyone is Dada. When we try to get him to say “Mama,” he corrects us.

“Will you say ‘Mama?'”

“Dada.”

“Mama mama.”

“Dada dada.”

“MAAA-MAAA.”

“DAAA-DAAA.”

He doesn’t understand what’s so funny, but he laughs with us regardless.

He makes my heart swell every time I look at him. And every time he looks back at me, I fall in love all over again. He makes every heartache, every tear, and every sore muscle worth the struggle.

I can’t tell you what exactly I’m expecting to get out of this. A sense of release, maybe. Sharing my experiences and hoping someone gets it. To be honest, I’ve lost the connection I once had with myself. Looking back on my life just three years ago, everything has changed.

My first step as a high school graduate turned into a leap. I wanted the world, and I intended to get it. Music was all I had at the time. It fueled me. It’s all I ever dreamed about. I got a part-time job in fast food to try to fund myself, but of course, I was in way over my head. That fire died quickly when reality hit and I realized I didn’t have the money or support to get anywhere in a music career. Keeping that job wasn’t a waste, though. I met the man who a year later became my husband and the father of our beautiful son. They keep me going.

The last couple of years have sped past me in a blur of tears and unexpected “adult-life” trials. It’s been gruesome, and it’s taken its toll on me. I can’t deny that. I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Some days I feel like I can’t even stand up, let alone function properly.

Now I’m here, holding on to whatever desire I have left to be the person I was. Creative. Productive. Inspired. I want to rekindle the fire I once had in my heart.